Reflections
by PenguinKye
Summary: One of the Slayers finds out that they aren't meant to be with their beloved, and thinks on it in the mirror of a pool. Chara killing. No one has ever figured out who this is...


Reflections  
  
I look down at myself in the mirror of a pool. The image I see there is clear and gentle as the water. It smiles at me, a carefree, happy smile, and I smile back at it, so wide I think my face should be splitting in two. Then I let the expression drop with a sigh. I know I am acting as much as anyone in our company, and the knowledge sometimes sickens me. I make faces at myself in the water, real faces. Faces I don't like to use in front of the others. The thought of how much I hide chills me, makes me want to do something drastic. Makes me yearn for my mother. I stand up suddenly, knocking dirt and pebbles into the pool. The perfect reflection twists and collides with itself, drawing a monster out of what was beautiful. I think that perhaps I don't want to come to this pool again.  
  
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I come back anyway. The next day we will leave, to save the world from evil and overstocked food. I might as well find peace while I can. If you can call it peace. Perhaps saying that I want peace is a lie. Perhaps what I want is truth, harsh truth, and from that, misery.  
  
I know he doesn't love me. I know who he really loves, although I don't think either of them know they do. In fact, I know more than any of them thinks, and I hide it all. No one is to blame that they think me childish...except me.  
  
But even if I am childish, he should be able to see deeper than that. Why can't he see me, the real me? Am I not worth it? I know it is this kind of self pity that kills, and I swear to stop delving into it. I know what might happen. I know any number of things that could happen, none of them good. I've heard it all before, not all second hand. What does it matter, though? I sometimes think, and that's when I fear myself the most. Who would have suspected? Of all of us, I think they would place me as least likely to do anything horrible, to myself or others. I am the Enduring, the Steadfast, perhaps not the best of people but the most predictable. Whether it's good they expect or bad, I follow through. So how would they react if I weren't here at all? I hope sadly, but really I think they would be disgusted.  
  
I stand up stiffly this time. I won't mind leaving.  
  
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Today we battled, as we so often do. She took all the glory, and had eyes only for one man. The others turned their eyes away. Not even for distraction did they look to me. That's why I am here now, standing on a stream's precarious ledge, wondering how I can look the same when I feel so different. It is better that I do not recognize myself in those dark eyes; then I may feel that someone, anyone, cares enough to see me.  
  
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I don't care what we pass these days, which seems frightening to a small part of my mind. Of all of them, I think, only one has noticed my change. After all, I still act like a cheery, positive person (how disgusting to think that I once was that naive), and he would know more than anyone when a person is acting. He won't stop me in my downward spiral, I know. He could only benefit.  
  
We stopped by the sea. It is so beautiful that even I see it. But it cannot catch my attention like the tidepools formed in its wake. Small creatures stay happily enough in their small, safe walls of rock. And I can see myself reflected on the water and in the shells. I hate the thing I see in the water's looking-glass.  
  
I think it would be fitting for a small life to end in a small way, and ironic that a greater way was only steps away.  
  
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He knows what I want to do, because of how often he has wished for the same. He doesn't say it; I can simply tell. You can't hide these things from a kindred spirit. Though he knows, he won't stop me, and for once that pleases me. I wish him luck in his own fierce task, but I think that all he'll find is heartbreak. If his kind have that. They must, though, for they have love.  
  
The sea is like a tear-kissed cradle, waiting for its children to take comfort in its depths. I feel the yearning of the sea in my own breast, and at last I decide to step into the warmth of its tenderness.  
  
The water is cold but soothing. It draws my memories from me as its water is drawn from a well. I see all that I have had, and all that I have wished to have, and I do not regret. The sea is my mother, and I will at last fall asleep in her arms.  
  
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Authors note: I'm sorry! ^^;; I had to do it, I had to! If you really have to flame me for killing her off, go ahead. (Wait...you do know who this is, don't you?) I was just trying to make a good story. (and if it isn't even that I'm really screwed...) Now go read my other stuff. And don't forget to review...*hint* ^^ 


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